What Pegman Saw – New Blue Jeans

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Using the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s prompt is Minsk, Belarus.

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Image by A Matskevich from Pixabay

Note

In Belarus, there are significant import duties on products from the EU, and this makes the goods expensive and you can’t always find them in the shops. A draft bilateral trade agreement has been negotiated but the EU refuses to implement it until the right to organise in trade unions is allowed.

New Blue Jeans

“Did you get anywhere with Sergei today?” Maryja took hold of Andrei’s arm and held it to her cheek. “Mmm, you feel nice,” she said.

Andrei stroked her hair and sighed, “Not really. He said privately that if it was up to him, he’d recognise the union straightaway, but HQ…” He sighed again.

“I wish they’d accept we have a right to organize. I want to buy French jeans. The ones we buy from Russia are so ugly!”

Andrei grinned, “Only you would see the advantage of a trade union in terms of fashionable denim!” He slapped her backside, hard.

Maryja pouted. “I don’t see anything wrong in wanting pretty clothes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but a trade union will protect our jobs and our pay.”

His face darkened. “Sergei told me not to take part in Saturday’s demonstration. The police have my address.”

What Pegman Saw – Warning

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s location is Patagonia, Chile. The prompt photo is in the city of Punta Arenas.

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Warning

The news that Ignacio was missing electrified our community.

“Dear God, not here,” I prayed.

Ignacio’s wife was frantic, visiting his usual haunts, interrogating his many trade union friends, calling at the police station daily. And then, abruptly, she stopped searching. She wouldn’t talk about him, or answer my questions about whether she had news of him. I saw terror lurking behind her dark-brown eyes.

There were second-hand reports of others who had disappeared, teachers, social workers, even a doctor. We all knew they’d supported Allende, but they weren’t Marxists, for goodness sake, just ordinary people who cared for others. We’re in Punta Arenas, not Santiago; not even Valparaiso. That was where resistance to the military was centred, not here. We’re a peaceful people.

Ignacio turned up after a few months. He’s a solitary man now. He shakes constantly and refuses to go out.

His fingers are twisted.